The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(9)

The son farthest from the door asked, “How does the condolences and tributes page on your website work? Is it like anyone can go in and write on it, or can it only be seen if you have the password? We want everybody to be able to put up a picture of our mother and write about their good times with her.”

Ilka nodded to him and walked over to shake his hand. “We will make the page so it’s exactly how you want it.” Then she repeated their names: Steve—the one farthest from the door—Joe, Helen, and the grandson, Pete. At least she thought that was right, though she wasn’t sure because he had mumbled his name.

“And we talked it over and decided we want charms,” Helen said. “We’d all like one. But I can’t see in the papers whether they’re paid for or not, because if not we need to know how much they cost.”

Ilka had no idea what charms were, but she’d noticed the green form that had been laid on the table for her, and a folder entitled “Norton,” written by hand. The thought struck her that the handwriting must be her father’s.

“Service Details” was written on the front of the form. Ilka sat down and reached for the notebook on the table. It had a big red heart on the cover, along with “Helping Hands for Healing Hearts.”

She surmised the notebook was probably meant for the relatives. Quickly, she slid it over the table to them; then she opened a drawer and found a sheet of paper. “I’m very sorry,” she said. It was difficult for her not to look at the grandson, who appeared crushed. “About your loss. As I understand, everything is already decided. But I wasn’t here when things were planned. Maybe we can go through everything together and figure out exactly how you want it done.”

What in the world is going on? she thought as she sat there blabbering away at this grieving family, as if she’d been doing it all her life!

“Our mother liked Mr. Jensen a lot,” Steve said. “He took charge of the funeral arrangements when our father died, and we’d like things done the same way.”

Ilka nodded.

“But not the coffin,” Joe said. “We want one that’s more upscale, more feminine.”

“Is it possible to see the charms?” Helen asked, still tearful. “And we also need to print a death notice, right?”

“Can you arrange it so her dogs can sit up by the coffin during the services?” Steve asked. He looked at Ilka as if this were the most important of all the issues. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“No, not a problem,” she answered quickly, as the questions rained down on her.

“How many people can fit in there? And can we all sit together?”

“The room can hold a lot of people,” she said, feeling now as if she’d been fed to the lions. “We can squeeze the chairs together; we can get a lot of people in there. And of course you can sit together.”

Ilka had absolutely no idea what room they were talking about. But there had been about twenty people attending her husband’s services, and they hadn’t even filled a corner of the chapel in Bispebjerg.

“How many do you think are coming?” she asked, just to be on the safe side.

“Probably somewhere between a hundred and a hundred and fifty,” Joe guessed. “That’s how many showed up at Dad’s services. But it could be more this time, so it’s good to be prepared. She was very active after her retirement. And the choir would like to sing.”

Ilka nodded mechanically and forced a smile. She had heard that it’s impossible to vomit while you’re smiling, something about reflexes. Not that she was about to vomit; there was nothing inside her to come out. But her insides contracted as if something in there was getting out of control. “How did Mrs. Norton die?” She leaned back in her chair.

She felt their eyes on her, and for a moment everyone was quiet. The adults looked at her as if the question weren’t her business. And maybe it was irrelevant for the planning, she thought. But after Erik died, in a way it had been a big relief to talk about him, how she had come home and found him on the kitchen floor. Putting it into words made it all seem more real, like it actually had happened. And it had helped her through the days after his death, which otherwise were foggy.

Helen sat up and looked over at her son, who was still staring at his hands. “Pete’s the one who found her. We bought groceries for his grandma three times a week and drove them over to her after school. And there she was, out in the yard. Just lying there.”

Now Ilka regretted having asked.

From underneath the hair hanging over his forehead, with his head bowed, the boy scowled at his mother. “Grandma was out cutting flowers to put in vases, and she fell,” he muttered.

“There was a lot of blood,” his mother said, nodding.

“But the guy who picked her up promised we wouldn’t be able to see it when she’s in her coffin,” Steve said. He looked at Ilka, as if he wanted this confirmed.

Quickly she answered, “No, you won’t. She’ll look fine. Did she like flowers?”

Helen smiled and nodded. “She lived and breathed for her garden. She loved her flower beds.”

“Then maybe it’s a good idea to use flowers from her garden to decorate the coffin,” Ilka suggested.

Steve sat up. “Decorate the coffin? It’s going to be open.”